Ghost Luka Zarkot vs. Knight Remalia Manvar

You had arrived on Arx after hearing word of a fighting tournament. It had been set up by the Combat Master and had been advertised as a Revival of the long held tradition of naming a Champion of the Antei Combat Center. As you had arrived at the signup table after waiting in line, you were met by a Trandoshan who looked you up and down, said nothing, and slid a form attached to a clipboard to you. A cheap chain linked a pen to the clipboard.

You read it over and it was a standard legal waiver noting that you could not hold the Combat Master or the Brotherhood liable for any injuries or even potential death that occurred during the tournament. You were entering this tournament of your own free will. Any and all repercussions of doing so were at no one’s fault but your own.

You signed, and the Trandoshan hissed with delight as he pointed to a door behind the table. A cheap paper sign was taped to the door that read “ACC Championship Introductory Meeting” in what looked to be felt-tipped black marker. You stepped inside the dark room and that is the last thing you remember until you woke up just now.

The world around you was dark… and soft. The area that you lay on felt just a bit more firm than a standard pillow. A quick check of yourself revealed that you still wore and carried everything you had when you had signed the waiver. While vision was extremely limited, you could tell that someone else was in the room with you. Four ceiling lights clicked on, one at a time, giving the room a bright glow beneath the four lights, but an eerie darkness outside of their radiance. You were in a padded room with a barred and sealed door. Every surface of the room was covered in thick, firm padded square tiles. You lay on a bed made of the same material in one corner of the room, while someone laid in another bed in the opposite corner. It was too dark to make out their figure well.

A holoprojection dropped from the ceiling, giving the room a pale blue glow. It was Combat Master Vincent Brujah. The Sith smirked as he began speaking.

“So, you’ve signed up for the tournament? Where I come from, that makes you a little crazy. I’ve taken you to a more appropriate environment for someone with your condition.”

As he smiled, pink mist began spraying from the ceiling at the same location as the lights. Slowly, what little you could see of the full room began to tint pink. The Combat Master’s smile grew wider.

“And if you weren’t crazy before… well… we can fix that. The effects of this drug will be pleasant… at first. You must be careful, though. Take too big of a dose and things can get downright terrifying, or so I’ve heard. Prolonged exposure will result in death.”

He shrugged slightly.

“The only way out of this room and into safe air is when I tell my crew to open the door, and I’m only going to do that when there is one of you left capable of walking away. Until then, enjoy the ride.”

The holoprojection blinked away. There was no starting whistle. No horn. No audience. Just silence, dim light, and the realization that the longer you sit there, the closer you would come to death.

There was a minute of dulled senses as the two combatants came slowly to consciousness and took in the rules of this bout. For a moment after the holoprojection vanished, the pink mist began to enter the room. Every second, it filled their lungs while they collected themselves. Their training compelled them to action once the sickly-sweet taste brought alertness to their bodies. They both held their breath, knowing that each one brought them closer to their death.

Like two womp rats in a barrel, the combatants instinctively pressed themselves against the padded walls of their cell and took in their surroundings. Luka looked across the room to see a pale half-Echani wearing attire that displayed the mark of Clan Odan-Urr. She was unfamiliar to them, other than the clan name. At the center of the room paced Bico, guarding them like one of her own kittens and posturing towards the only perceived threat in the room. Out of the three, the nexu appeared most anxious about their situation, as she clawed futilely at the metal door that barred their exit with each frantic pass back and forth. Luka sought escape from the room as well, though their eyes shifted to the walls and ceiling. When no options were offered, they turned their attention to their challenger.

The half-Echani was irritated by the circumstance that she had found herself in, although she was still focused on the task at hand. There was but one way out of this, and how foolish it was. She had expected a spar to test her talents, not a death trap in a confined space. The tanned human before her was an unknown, and a threat unless proven otherwise. Remalia's bioluminescent ruby eyes narrowed at them, anticipating the other's ability. The human seemed to analyze herself in turn with the same intensity. Remalia's gaze then shifted to the pacing beast that stood between them.

Luka pulled a mask over their face. The taste of pure oxygen was a relief after the announcement they had received about the poison gas. However, the oxygen tank held a limited supply, and they had already breathed in some of the deadly vapors. And though the mask would buy them some time, the same couldn't be said for their companion, Bico.

"We both know what needs to be done," Luka said, their voice muffled by the mask. They slid from their bed to the floor in a crouch, their back against the white wall.

Remalia nodded, her expression neutrally stern. She shifted off the bed herself, then slowly reached her hands behind her to her belt as she stood, feeling for her lightsabers. The nexu hissed, turned away from the door, and crouched low on her haunches in anticipation. Her beady eyes watched Remalia with deadly intent.

"But we don't have to kill each other," Luka offered, their kind tone a stark contrast to their snarling companion. "You're from Odan-Urr. A Jedi, right? We can just spar a little, let them have their show. You don't want to kill anyone..." They approached slowly, cybernetic hand outstretched, a soft smile behind the mask, as one might pacify a frightened animal. Their voice almost lulled Remalia into compliance. Almost.

The hiss of a lightsaber behind her opponent's back alerted Remalia to the ruse. She drew her twin lightsabers in turn, catching a breath for action rather than a retort. The golden gleam of the blades caused the nexu to recoil and lash its tail. The creature's vicious maw gaped wide as she bared her fangs.

The attack did not come from the beast. A flash of cerulean came at Remalia with a whirling flourish, but she blocked it with her crossed sabers. She shoved the human’s saber back and sliced at their chest, catching their cloak as they spun away. As the human relied on the grace of the Force and quick footwork to keep just out of reach, the nexu went for Remalia with a swipe of sharp claws.

With a spin and a stamped foot, Remy sliced off the corner of robe the other had grabbed and spun under the swipe of the feline, her jetpack shoving her to the other side of the room on her side. With another kick, she flipped into a standing person and tried for a second time to take stock of the situation.

It was obvious that the cat was battle trained, and likely shared a link with the warrior. There wasn’t another way that a predator could be trained to exploit an opening without any kind of command. The human though… They looked familiar somehow.

Remy had no need to breathe, yet. With a small trickle of the Force, she could go days without breathing, hours with rigorous activity, but talking still meant she would need to inhale. So, silently, she took a slow step forward, her eyes looking back and forth between her two opponents, now spreading to either side. Her head tilted slightly as she tried to remember where that face was from.

Definitely not from Odan-Urr, or it would be a more clear memory.

She stepped towards the center of the room, allowing herself to be surrounded more completely. She had marked the pair, so she could locate them both even if they gouged her eyes out.

From Arcona then. Knives, moving like they’re stalking…

She deactivated Promise then, the purple blade vanishing before she sheathed it. If this was to be a fight of broken bones instead of corpses, she would need her blunt instruments. It was also becoming obvious that the other two were getting impatient. Then, finally she got it.

The Force whipped out from Remy in thin tendrils, not on the attack, but in three directions at once. Two strands went down and pulled the pins on a pair of smoke grenades at her hip.

A hunter in the dark. A knife in the back. We shall both be blind.

The last shot out to the others mind along the line of Remys pointing finger, speaking one word in the humans mind as everything exploded into motion once more.

”Zarkot”

Remy spun from her standing position hammering down on the top of the Nexu’s head with her right fist, using her mag-boots and jetpack for leverage, barely pausing to spin and meet blue plasma blade with green. Not pausing to clash, she shoved off the other and disengaged the boots to roll over the animal, now shaking its aching head. The smoke billowed around her, and the room began to darken with the various fumes filling it. She could still sense both of the others, and was being forced to rely more on that than previously, the brilliant blue blade the only visible object in the haze.

She turned another pair of swipes from that blade, allowing herself to continue to be pushed around the room. If she fought back seriously, she could tell it would be close, and close meant dangerous. She needed to play carefully and only strike when an opportunity presented itself. Thankfully, from what she knew of Ghost Zarkot from her time in Arcona, they were just as much out of their element as she was. She was used to killing without restraint, and they were used to careful hunting and trickery. The best strategy for victory was a brutal and crippling offense, but she didn’t want to mistakenly kill an ally, as much to spite the organizers as for any morality.

The attack from Zarkot intensified, and she knew it was about time for the next move. As she predicted, she felt Zarkots pet coming up behind and off to the side, putting her in the middle of a triangle of saber, wall, and violent beast. Just a moment before it leaped, Remy shoved forward and locked blades, the sudden swing in momentum forcing a clash. Her mag-boots locked to the metal supports between the padding, the Force surged into her muscles, and the servos of her exoskeleton whined as she shoved Zarkot back two steps with nothing but brute force. That space made the Nexu’s jaws clack uselessly behind her back as Zarkot was forced to roll backwards to avoid a descending fist.

Then, Remy felt something tighten around her throat.

The creature had whipped its tail around, using the momentum of its leap to yank Remy off to the side and pull her away from the advantage she had gained. A pair of silent green plasma shots flew out of the darkness, forcing Remy to struggle back up to deflect them. Swinging a fist up to strike at the limb holding her back, she gasped as a blade slid into her side. Zarkot, it seemed, was capable of hiding her presence in the Force, at least from Remys passive tagging.

“Poison coated,” they said, skipping back out of range, into the smoke, “Not to mention the fact that I probably hit a lung. Surrender, or you might not have time to be saved.”

Right. Zarkot was a planner, not a brawler. That wouldn’t change just because they were in an inconvenient venue. And Remy couldn’t be what she wasn’t for the same reason.

Reaching up, her fingers surged with strength as she closed a fist around the animal's tail. Spinning once, she flung it across the room, trailing a yowl behind it.

“No. I’m not one to give up for fear of pain. Or death.”

Remy took a deep breath, tasting the sweet death surrounding her. Her vision began to swim, and some high pitched whining came from nowhere. She let go of her focus on slowing her metabolism, and instead sped it forward a few minutes, amplifying the effects of the hallucinogenic.

“What… what are you doing?”

Remy ignored Zarkots confusion as she began to ignore her senses. Her sight was filled with swimming colors, her ears with whispering voices and all manner of conflicting ambient noise. She felt fingers running down her skin and knives piercing her chest, confusing the sensation of the real wound in her side.

“I’m taking you seriously, Ghost Zarkot. Do the same, or you will die.”

Her bodily senses were useless, now. The cacophony of the drug all blended together until Remy was effectively insensate. Blind and deaf, she was able to meditate as if she was floating in a sensory deprivation tank. Two lights existed in that blinding darkness, and the simple presence slowly defined more and more, her deadened world being brought to life in the Force. As if in slow motion, she twisted to slip between another pair of blaster shots, then under a set of claws. The Force showed her the angle, the speed, and the future of trajectories, letting her read the fight like a book she had finished once already. She almost casually raised a fist into the cats jaw as it passed overhead, and while she could not feel the impact, she felt its pain and shock.

The Force began to take more, Remys mind fuzzing as it became one with the world around it. She lunged forward, locked a boot to jump to the side, rocketed to the ceiling and found herself behind Zarkot faster than even her own thoughts could account for. The following strike would have killed anyone not Amplifying their body, but as it was, Remy simply Sensed Zarkot flying across the room and slamming into the far wall.

Strangely, even encased in the emptiness that always accompanied being swallowed by the Force, a small smile threatened to appear on her face. Why hold back when there was no need to?

The Arconan Ghost’s signature was a weak shimmer within the depths of the Force in which Remy had surrendered herself. Their prone form lay beneath the wall they had struck against, curled upon themself in a fetal ball, their mask cracked. It emptied into the smoke-filled room with a hiss. Their nexu stumbled in a corner of the cell, hacking and sneezing. It shook its head before it slumped to the ground with a groan. Both beast and master appeared incapacitated to Remy. Still, there had yet to be another holoprojection, or some other call to end the match. Could both challengers still walk? What more did they need to do?

Remy approached where Luka lay, pulling herself along, as though wading drunk through deep waters. She did not know how long she could push herself further, but push she did.

There were more hunkered bodies within her vision than should have been. She blinked. Almost a handful more. A scattering of dark shapes within her sight. Reacting without thought, she swung her fist at the nearest one, but it dissolved at her touch. A solid kick to another simply hit the corner of one of the beds, offsetting her balance. Remy spun around, eyes wide, and searched the smoke. She then shut her eyes tight again to feel through the Force. She could see a single light. She grasped for that light.

There was burning hate in Remalia’s eyes as she grabbed Luka by the throat and slammed them back against the padded wall. She would not let some trick of theirs lose her the match, not when she had fought so hard.

But Luka was still quick as a snake. The human grabbed for their opponent’s wrist, then twisted her arm in a fluid motion behind her back. Remy shoved backward before they could do anything else, bruising Luka's ribs with the edge of her jetpack and pushing them back against the wall. Once she was released, Remy turned around…then swayed.

She stumbled dizzily, suddenly gasping and wheezing for air. Remalia felt a sharp pain in her chest, and a numbness spreading into her shoulder and at her fingertips – then she felt nothing at all.

Luka watched the woman collapse to the ground and convulse, froth at the mouth, limbs contorted into odd angles. The human fell to their knees beside her, and searched their pockets for a small plastic case. All the while, their attention shifted to the metal door, willing it to open. This had to be the end.

"Medic, please!" Luka shouted. Their voice was hoarse. There was a darkened mark around their neck, and their own breath came in harsh gasps. Still, they mixed their antidote with a rushed yet trained ease, and readied the dose for the dying woman.

A pathetic whimper sounded from the opposite corner, where Bico lay. Luka could sense the fear within the trembling creature, and that fear fading with each passing second as her breathing became shallow. Luka looked at their kit.

There was only enough for one.

Remy dashed forward, only carried by the first lunge before sliding on her front and allowing her jetpack to rocket her towards her target. Using her own body as the counterweight, she swung Beckon towards Zarkots ankles, an attack that was easily blocked. One less easily blocked was the horizontally spinning kick she threw out from the counter-swing, connecting with a heavy thud. Apparently Zarkot was somewhat proficient in strengthening their body with Amplification as well.

Switching her mag-boots on again and twisting her ankle, Remy shoved her elbows against the padded ground with as much strength as the Force allowed from this awkward position, and leveraged the maglock to untwist as she straightened up, arcing Beckon around for a blow so heavy that Zarkot got bodily knocked to the side. Shooting out her other hand, she grabbed the throat of the feline as it lunged yet again, apparently having gotten over the pain of a broken jaw.

“Is your beast as ready to die as we are, Zarkot? Surely it-” Remy tossed it to the side as a counterweight to dodge past another pair of blaster shots. It seemed Zarkot wasn’t willing to talk, which seemed fair. She had taken advantage of monologuing villains and heroes desperate to reach an accord many times, but pragmatists always knew talking was just a method of stalling or manipulation.

Jumping back towards the Nexu, she arced a kick over and slammed it into the ground, finishing with a flourish that deflected another pair of blaster shots. That was getting very difficult to do blindly, only able to Sense the position of Zarkots arms and the points where they would impact. On that note, she could feel that her arms were badly damaged as well. It was strange, being forced to rely on her Sense to feel damage done to her own body, but the drugs must be fairly far along to fully deaden the sensation of her arms being nearly flayed by the creatures claws.

She kicked the now limp form towards Zarkot and chased it, using the body as cover. Then, not waiting for it to impact, Remy leaped over the top with the aid of her jetpack and swept down with Beckon to cover all available routes of egress. Zarkot seemingly dodged, but there was a spike of pain in their image regardless. Locking her boots to the beams between padding on the ceiling and using the jetpack for stability, Remy began to walk slowly towards the form on the floor, now breathing heavily and holding a leg.

“The Nexu is down, you’re injured. Your skills are in stealth and trickery, but this arena is conducive to neither. If you had some secret weapon you would have used it by now, and I will not fall for another half a minute.”

Another blaster shot flew towards Remy, but especially with her supernatural focus, she was ready. With a casual stroke, she deflected the first shot back, off the second, and into Zarkots other leg.

“You always shoot covering fire in pairs. Face it, your attacks have no effect, so surrender.”

“My attacks have no effect on you? Who decided that?”

Instead of growing weaker, Zarkots presence in the Force grew. Brighter and emanating like a red fog around their body.

“I have no weapons left? Who decided that?”

Their aura grew brighter, their core blasting out a heat that matched the cold sheen of Remys own. She recognized this power all too well. Zarkots mind was being shoved aside, filled with one pure directive. Remy reached behind her and ignited Promise. She preferred an open hand, but in a battle of ‘Sabers, one lost their hands all too often.

The first clash was more than just plasma on plasma. Zarkots Rage smashed against the cold void inside Remy, the Light and Dark clashing hard enough to blow back the smoke for a moment, even if either fighter could notice. Rearing back and striking again faster than most people could see, Remy flipped backwards off the ceiling before raising her sabers again to block another heavy swing. Servos squealed as she dodged away again, then another block.

Between the blows, a thought needled at the back of her mind. With the various poisons clouding her mind and the emptiness making thinking more challenging, she couldn’t help but feel it would be obvious if she was clear headed. Only one thing for it then.

With one last roll away from Zarkot, still charging straight for her and hammering away when they got to her, Remy pulled out all her stims and rammed them into her flesh before releasing the void that allowed the Force to make her so powerful. Using the Force to once again hold her breath in, she ramped up her metabolism again and started forcing all the toxins out, vomiting up yellow goo tinged with red. Pain exploded in her arms and side as the inhibiting effects of the poisons wore off, and sight and sound returned in force. It was then that she realized the weakness Zarkot had exposed.

—--

Krrralliss the Trandoshan sat at his foldout table on his foldable table outside Introductory Meeting Room 4. He had been excited to at least be able to watch the fight going on inside, but the pale one had set off some smoke grenades early on and the cameras only saw white. That left him rather bored. For a short while at least.

Krrralliss jumped to his feet when the door thumped. The rooms weren't made to be soundproof, exactly, but they were certainly about as tough as bunkers, so to hear that must mean something really exciting was happening on the other side. He moved to look at the door, surprised to find himself relieved that there was no dents. Of course there wouldn’t be, why did he question that?

He jumped again as a continuous popping ran down the side of the door, accompanied by smoke.

“Wha- is that a breaching charge?”

Then, a lightsaber poked out the other side and cut down, right about where the bar latch locked the door into the wall. With a pit of dread forming in his stomach, Krrralliss dove to the side, just as there was another slam on the door. Then another, and another, and another, until the door slammed backwards in swirls of grey and pink. Up against the padded interior of the door, now pinned against the hallway wall, was the fighter Luka and their pet Nexu, the former of which was struggling against an invisible force, and weakening rapidly.

Stepping out of the fog, or shuffling, really, was Remalia. Her hand outstretched to hold her opponent against the wall, she slowly moved to the table, leaking out of dozens of wounds, her clothes and flesh seemingly falling off in places. With her one free hand, she picked up the clipboard with the release she had signed and began to reread it. “Zarkot is strong. They thought to use brute force, even if it is not what they have trained for. However, they never learned to hone that brutish ability with skill and focus, as I have.”

Dropping the clipboard and sweeping her arm to swipe the stim pens off her body, she finally let Zarkot drop, unable to move, if still conscious.

“I will make two statements as a matter of personal promise, with no relation to the tournament or the Combat Center. These two statements are officially unrelated, so as to not violate the contract.”

She began to walk down the hall, towards where it seemed several people were being moved on stretchers.

“First. It is stupid, arrogant, and wasteful to kill allies and subordinates for entertainment. And second… I am going to kill Brujah.”

She made it about halfway down the hall before falling on her face with a rather ungraceful splat.